Dear Life(35)
I hate that question. Why is that a question adults feel obligated to ask in order to hold conversation? As if what we do defines us. It might define some of us, but not everyone. Then again, right now, I can’t particularly say anything defines me. Well . . . that’s not true. What defines me at the current moment? My trauma, my loss. That’s what singularly characterizes me.
Not wanting to go into too much detail about my failed attempt to become a nurse, I settle for the easy answer. “Eh, nothing special right now. I’m a waitress at Carter’s uncle’s restaurant.”
“Really?” Jace resembles shock in his expression. “Huh, I guess that makes sense since it seems like you know each other.”
“Yeah, unfortunately. We’ve never really gotten along. He’s a beast to work with.”
“There has to be a reason why he’s closed off all the time. Sarcastic. Kind of a brooding bastard, that guy.”
“You can say that.”
“But there is good in him,” Jace adds, this time surprising me. “You can see it in the way he listens to Daisy, like he wants to help her but doesn’t know how to. At the last meeting he showed a little humility, a little humanity, and hopefully, we’ll continue to see that in him.” How does Jace possibly see that in Carter? Maybe I’m blinded by his abhorrent display of anger I see regularly.
“Are you the silent observer of the group?”
He shrugs his shoulders, his eyes cast down toward the cat, his tan forearm flexing with each toss of the ribbon in a different direction. “It’s easy to observe when you sit back and listen, if you truly listen to someone rather than preparing to respond to what they’re saying. It’s the difference in creative listening and reactive listening. Being on the receiving end of reactive listening my entire life, I’ve strived to be a creative listener. It’s hard, but I feel that I hear people better when I do so.”
I’m kind of blown away right now. Never in a million years would I have pegged Jace Barnes as someone with such a sensitive soul. Despite his broken veneer, he gives off a hopeful, positive vibe that I find myself gravitating toward right now.
“That’s a beautiful way to think of having a conversation.”
Tipping his head to the side, he glances in my direction. “It’s a beautiful thing to be able to listen to each other. Not just hear their words, but read body language as well. Imagine if we were all trained that way, the kind of compassion we’d have for everyone.”
“I’m getting the feeling you’ve had an unfair deal of judgment.”
He pulls on the brim of his hat, adjusting it lower on his brow. “You could say that. It’s funny that as a collective whole we ask for compassion and understanding but have a hard time handing it out when the time comes. I’ve always tried to put myself in someone else’s shoes before passing judgment, because you never know what that person is truly suffering from, why they are the way they are. Take Carter for instance. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to be in the program, that he’s just going through the motions, but there is a deeper reason he’s not sharing with us. Instead of jumping to the conclusion that the man is just a dick, I’m trying to see it from his perspective with every bit of information he gives. First impressions are meaningless, because not everyone can be on point all the time, and yet, one bad day can ruin us.”
“Do you have a hard time trying to put on a happy face for fans and for the media?”
“Not really.” He shakes his head. “But this year, this season, I’m going to have one hell of a time trying to keep myself from breaking down on the field, let alone in the locker room, or during interviews.”
“I can’t imagine.” I take a deep breath and continue, “When I lost Eric, it almost felt like my breath was taken away with him. I felt cold as stone, lifeless, like a steel rod making the motions through life, but never feeling anything. I’m sure I wasn’t pleasant, or chipper, or even a joy to be around because I was either hating life, hating other people, or crying hysterically.”
“But it got better?” His eyes plead with me.
One of the ribbons provided for the cats runs through my fingers as I play around with it, needing to fidget with something as I talk about Eric. I hate to break Jace’s hopeful heart, but I can only be honest about my situation. “Doesn’t seem like it. Breathing feels just as hard, but unlike when Eric first passed, I’m used to it by now.”
“You learned to live with it.”
Not the first time I’ve heard that. “I guess so.”
Sitting back in his chair, Jace lets out a long breath. “Shit, this is not the type of conversation we should be having in front of the cats. I’m sure they enjoy other types of topics, less morbid.”
That garners a chuckle from me. “Yeah, what kind of conversations do you think the cats like to hear?”
“Hmm.” He ponders my question for a few seconds, giving it some good thought. “They probably like to talk about the tuna count in local fishing holes. Latest trends in scratching posts, and of course, the drop of the next Taylor Swift album.”
“Naturally.” I laugh out loud. “Oh to be a cat.”
“Sure as hell is an easy life.” Turning, Jace smiles at me, a genuine, beautiful smile. It kind of reminds me of Eric’s smile in a way. Charming, very charming. A smile I haven’t seen in the media, a smile that seems reserved for intimate moments. “I’m glad I ran into you, Hollyn. It was nice talking to you outside of the program’s dictated discussion.”